


The Ultimate Johnlock Story

by alexxphoenix42



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gay Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Meta, SO MUCH TEA, making tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6458593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxphoenix42/pseuds/alexxphoenix42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well-worn lines and popular tropes gathered to make the ultimate Johnlock fan fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ultimate Johnlock Story

**Author's Note:**

> We recently did a [Mad libs version](http://songlin.tumblr.com/post/142132291316/in-which-the-good-folks-in-the-threepatchpodcast) at 221b con of a funny little thing I wrote on Tumblr - a compilation of all the usual tropes and popular lines that show up in fan fic for the Sherlock fandom. 
> 
> As a fan fic writer, I often dip into these tropes myself, and share this cracky little piece in the silliest, kindest way possible. All the love to the many fic writers out there who play in the BBC Sherlock sandbox, and make these familiar tropes and words come alive in their unique stories again, and again, and again! KISSES!

.. ~ @ ~ ..

 

John wakes from a nightmare and can’t fall back to sleep. Downstairs, Sherlock plays something lovely on the violin to soothe him. The next morning while John is at work, Sherlock steals John’s jumper to smell it, inhaling John’s scent trapped within the fibers deeply. Sherlock hears John’s distinctive tread on the stairs, and hides the purloined jumper away. John gets upset over the body parts Sherlock leaves by the food in the fridge, and the messy experiment in the kitchen. John gives a rage sniff, and Sherlock plays loud, discordant noises on his violin in reply.

Misunderstanding get in the way – so many things get in the way - girlfriends, boyfriends, wives, Moriarty, the work and Mycroft get in the way. John makes tea. Sherlock moves like an overgrown cat around the flat, and John can’t help following him with his eyes. Sherlock never eats anything unless John bullies him into it. John makes toast and more tea while Sherlock lays draped across the sofa. Sherlock is in his thinking pose.  Sherlock never sleeps. John finds it maddening. John makes tea, so many cups of tea that grow cold by Sherlock's elbow. They order take-away, usually a curry, and watch crap telly on the sofa together. John notices Sherlock’s hair, a riot of inky curls, Sherlock’s long, elegant fingers, and Sherlock’s plump lower lip. Sherlock’s stormy grey, seaglass, quicksilver eyes draw John in until he feels lost. Sherlock popping the last consonant of the word has him spellbound.

John licks his own thin, chapped lips.

“You’re an idiot.” Sherlock says.

They shove each other against the wall, it’s hard to tell who moves first. John smells like tea, wool, and home as Sherlock buries his face against him. Sherlock’s pupils are blown wide, his hair a halo of messy curls. He looks like pure sex, and John feels his jeans growing restrictive as he swells. Sherlock reaches out to cup the bulge in John’s trousers.

“Well, now, how shall we take care of this?” Sherlock drawls.

Lips meet in a bruising kiss. John attacks Sherlock’s mouth, kissing it, sucking in his lower lip, biting it almost hard enough to draw blood.

John licks a stripe up Sherlock’s neck. He latches onto his collarbone and sucks, hard. John grabs his flatmate’s plush arse, kneading the sensitive flesh. For a skinny bloke, Sherlock had a surprisingly lush backside.

They stumble, kissing to the bedroom. Sherlock bats Johns hand’s away to undo his own flies more quickly. They toe their shoes off and quickly divest themselves of their clothes.

“Your hands, your mouth! My God, just look at you!” John cries. He ghosts a finger over Sherlock’s impossibly sharp  cheekbones.  He finds the skin as pale as marble, but so much warmer to the touch.

“Lovely, just lovely.” John’s voice dips into gravel.

“Joooohn.” Sherlock’s voice rumbles out sounding like dark chocolate caramel, like rolling thunder, like jaguars on steroids.

Sherlock palms his hand over the head of John’s cock smearing the precome into the soft velvet of his erection.  He leans over, and swallows John down without any fear of a gag reflex. John groans as his cock hits the back of Sherlock’s throat, fingers move to tangle in those soft curls. Sherlock pulls off, and John cock slips from his plump lips with an audible pop, an obscenely wet noise in the quiet room.

John fumbles for the lube in the bedside drawer, and pops the cap. He paints stripes of slick over his hand. John finds Sherlock’s pink puckered entrance with a wet finger, and pushes in one, then two, then three fingers carefully stretching him open. After slicking his own erection root to tip, John lines up and slides in, seating himself to the hilt. Sherlock moans, his hands fisting in the sheets.

 “I’ve got you.” John whispers, mouthing at the sensitive skin beneath his ear.

They press their mouths together, more an uncoordinated mashing of lips and clicking of teeth than an actual kiss. Sherlock smears a kiss across John’s jaw.

They move together, rocking, grinding themselves together, undulating like the waves on the beach.

Nnnngh,” John says.  “Stop, stop, I won’t last long if you keep doing that, and I want this to last.” Sherlock refuses to still, and they crash together a last time as John cries “I’m . . . I’m coming . . .”

Explosions go off behind John’s eyelids and the world blanks out as he ejaculates, filling his lover in hot pulses. He feels the warm release of Sherlock’s orgasm between them, painting his stomach in messy spurts.

Years pass, or maybe just minutes, it’s hard to tell as they slowly come back to themselves.

“That was amazing,” John says.

Sherlock looks wrecked, utterly ruined, a gorgeous mess. “It was,” he smirks, cocking an eyebrow.

They wipe themselves clean absent-mindedly on the duvet, and sheets beneath them.

John’s cock lies soft and vulnerable against his thigh, and the sight of it makes Sherlock feel suddenly protective of him.  When John makes a move to leave, Sherlock puts a hand out to stop him. “Please don’t go.”

“Alright.” John says, and they settle down, curling together for the best sleep of their lives safe in each other’s arms.


End file.
